


Let Me Be Weak

by anemic_cinema



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Songfic, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemic_cinema/pseuds/anemic_cinema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea turns to Michonne when she feels beaten down by the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be Weak

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a songfic. The song used is "And Dream Of Sheep" by Kate Bush.

“Little light shining  
Little light will guide them to me  
My face is all lit up  
My face is all lit up  
I can't keep my eyes open...”

Andrea remembers that when she was a child, she was terrified of the dark. Even into her teenage years. Amy had made fun of her a little for it, until she'd seen how bad the dark would make Andrea panic. She was sixteen when Amy had come into her room and given her her night light. Her little sister was six at that time. 

All of that was gone now. Now staying in the dark meant safety. Walkers are sometimes drawn to light, like awful moths. Even though she knows it's for the best, Andrea still has trouble breathing when she can't make out what's in front of her. Her mind works overtime, and all she can see is corpses, and walkers eating those corpses, reduced to shapes in the darkness. She knows that they aren't really there, but she can still see them. She shuts her eyes and hides her face. 

Then she feels an arm around her. Michonne isn't bothered by the dark. As long as Andrea can feel her touch, she isn't so scared. In fact, it makes her thankful for the dark, because the other woman's touch makes her face turn hot. She sits next to her, back against the wall of the abandoned building. The moving shapes not too far away from them pose no threats, but Andrea can still see the hunger in their eyes. They no longer have the power to close their jaws around anyone ever again, but all you have to do is look into their cloudy eyes to see that they're starving. 

When sleep comes, Andrea leans her head against Michonne's shoulder. The other woman lets her. There's little rest to be had, and all of her sleeping is uneasy. 

“...wish I had my radio  
I'd tune into some friendly voices.  
Talking 'bout stupid things  
I can't be left to my imagination”

When she wakes up, she finds herself missing her radio alarm clock. She used to hate it so much, because it would signal another exhausting day of fighting fights that no one wanted her to win. Defending others that were being marginalized and mistreated and seeing first hand just how shitty humans could be. Now Andrea would love nothing more than to be woken up by the sound of morning deejays joking around, telling people to call in, announcing pop hits. There's no more jokes, no more contests with fabulous cash prizes, and no more pop stars singing about love and heartbreak and good times. There are no more good times left to be had. 

Except when Michonne hands her a can of fruit cocktail with a spoon in it and smiles. It's not a good time, but it's a good moment.

“Fruit cocktail today. I hate the cherries, so if you want mine let me know.”

Andrea eats the food in gratitude, and accepts the unnaturally red cherries that the other woman gives her. It's kind, and it feels almost normal. 

Except the red makes her think of blood, and she loses her appetite. Michonne doesn't question it. That's another thing to be grateful for. 

“Ooh, their breath is warm,  
And they smell like sleep  
And they say they take me home...”

“Sleep next to me.” 

Andrea wishes that she could think of a better way of putting it. Maybe it's the loneliness, or maybe it's Michonne being who she is, a light that draws her in with its promise of comfort and warmth, but Andrea needs her. There's no easy way to ask, but the need is too great not to.

“You sure you want that?” The woman looks at her carefully with her big brown eyes, eyes that shine deep and dense, like semi-precious stones on display at a museum. 

“Yes. Please.” Andrea doesn't want to beg, but she's too weak not to. “I really-” there's no way to make the words sound good, and not like she's desperate. “I really need you right now.”

Andrea thinks it's a dream when the other woman nods and then kisses her. Maybe she wasn't the only desperate one. Maybe she needs it too. Those things become unimportant, because hands take over to say what words can't. Hands on Andrea's skin, and her hands touching Michonne, and it still feels like a dream. Andrea swoons, and the kisses turn into something deeper. She remembers that scene from “The Wizard Of Oz” when Dorothy falls asleep in the Technicolor poppies. That's how it feels now. Dreamy, unreal, but so sweet. It makes her think that maybe there could be a place she could call home, and that not killing herself was the right choice. 

“...like poppies, heavy with seed  
They take me deeper and deeper”

The hand between her legs makes her forget, just like the poppies did to Dorothy in the movie. Michonne's breath is warm against her neck, and Andrea surrenders. That hand teases something out of her she thought was gone forever, and it becomes difficult to breathe. She does the same for the other woman, except Michonne moans out a man's name when it happens for her. Andrea doesn't hold that against her, because after they're done, she holds her all the same. It's a soft moment in a world that's too hard. There's no time to begrudge someone for still holding onto the past, and burying memories of someone else deep inside of themselves.

“Let me be weak, let me sleep...

Andrea doesn't mean to cry. Not when she actually feels good. Not when someone is making her feel comfortable and safe for once. Although Michonne's been doing that since they first met in the forest, far off the path of the yellow brick road. The other woman doesn't say anything. She strokes Andrea's hair and lets her cry for everything and everyone and the whole fucked up world. That night, Andrea isn't afraid of the dark, or of her weakness. Her hands grip onto Michonne's shirt, and they stay there as she dreams.

...and dream of sheep”

And for the first time since everything went wrong, the dreams are good. They're filled with blooming red flowers, not blood. Familiar faces smiling at her. Not dead or dying, but alive and radiating love. Then she's falling, soft as wool, into Michonne's arms. 

The dreams are so sweet it makes it difficult for her to wake up. But when she does, Michonne is there. That's reason enough to open her eyes.


End file.
